


Blue

by Randominity



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dystopia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-17
Updated: 2004-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randominity/pseuds/Randominity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He took a thoughtful drag off of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the thin line of smoke trail up and blend with the sickly yellow of the booth lamp. A year in New York and it had been so carefully sanitized that he couldn't even remember seeing a Shameful. The homeless blended into the scenery like so many potted plants on so many windowsills and Elijah hadn't thought twice about it.</p><p>Sean nodded, tapping a finger on Elijah's discarded sunglasses, and sighed. "It makes it harder when I can see why," he said. "Why you're supposed to be special."</p><p>"Special?" Elijah laughed. Special, he was beginning to think, consisted of eyes that shimmered between shades of gold and green.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in an alternate universe of my creation, where the main source of discrimination and privilege is based on eye color. Beta'ed by the lovely misskittye. Originally posted to LJ February 17th, 2004.

The Valkyrie was a good restaurant. Good ribs, good fries, great salads, and good enough coffee that kept Elijah coming back. Hannah joked that he only liked it because he'd grown up in suburbia and it made him feel like a city kid, with the cooler parties and the better clubs. She was right, but had the reasoning mixed up. Elijah didn't like being in the city because it was sophisticated; he liked it because it was _different_. 

Everything diverse and interesting happened in the city; it was where he'd met Dom, who would have otherwise shunned Elijah and his quaint country life. Dom had had a different take on Elijah's love for the city. "I figure it's like this," he'd said, pegging an orange and forcing the pieces into his mouth whole, their juices running messily down his wrist and arm. "You hang out with the Englishman to get the Blue boys, and you eat at The Valkyrie to ogle the Gray ones."

"Yeah, that's exactly it," he'd said sarcastically, tossing Dom a napkin. Dom ignored him, licking his little finger lewdly. "If I used _you_ as a guy magnet I'd die lonely. With one arm, like, _freakishly_ more muscular than the other."

Grays held no real allure for Elijah - there was nothing wrong with them, he'd just never met one he wanted to take home. It would be hard enough, though, even if he had; Elijah was a Blue. Sometimes, in a long family line of Blues, if they were careful, there would be a generation with blue eyes so pure they almost redefined the color. Elijah was of that generation.

It was technically allowable for Grays and Blues to fall in love; outsiders wouldn't bat an eyelash if Elijah settled down with a nice Gray boy, and the Law would look the other way. His family, though, would never stand for it. He had an example to set for Hannah, after all, like his brother Zack before him. As if he weren't being reminded of that every day.

Dom's own lineage was a hopeless muddle of Blues and Grays. He'd been born a Blue like Elijah, but his eyes were Gray enough that sometimes only his ID could vouch for his status. As if in defiance of that fact, he lost his ID constantly, hopping from rave to party to the beach for surfing, and back again. Sometimes, Elijah wondered what it would be like to be Dom, to be sure of his identity and yet let the world keep guessing.

Dom didn't seem to mind. Today, he'd conveniently left his wallet at home. "You wouldn't mind paying for this one, would you?" he asked with a wink. His eyes were a stormy Blue today, but Blue nonetheless. "I'll get it next time. Promise."

"You're the luckiest bastard I know," Elijah laughed, accepting his menu from the busboy without looking.

"And I have a sexy accent."

"And, whatever," Elijah grinned, and nodded to acknowledge the man hovering over his table. "Thanks," he murmured, only then looking up.

He was surprised to see that the busboy was an older man, probably in his early thirties. He didn't _look_ older - his face was youthful, still - so much as somewhat prematurely aged, but he was an anomaly. Most of the busboys and busgirls here were struggling high school students trying to scrape up enough cash for their first car, or else they were senior citizens whiling away their retirement years.

The busboy glanced up in the middle of filling Elijah's water glass and Elijah caught his gaze, a little dark green filling his vision. He squinted to get a better look, the need to categorize instinctive. No, he realized; the darkness was caused by brown patches among the green ringing the iris, and _oh,_ Elijah thought. The busboy was a Shameful - the offspring of an illicit union between colors. The name alone described their status in society, branded by birth by the unclassifiable eye colors that resulted from such combinations.

Now that he'd made eye contact it didn't seem right for Elijah to ignore the busboy's existence entirely. Instead, he now wondered how the guy had gotten this job in the first place, but couldn't figure out a way to word it without making it sound like a put-down. As far as he knew, most Shamefuls were shuttled to the factories for work. The menial tasks of cleaning and manual labor were desirable, but usually only possible if a Shameful had a boss willing to speak for them, or pay an advance. It rarely happened, and Elijah was curious, about this Shameful who had broken ranks, and who had held Elijah's gaze for as long as Elijah'd held his.

"So, uh, you must've been happy to get out of that factory work, huh?" he finally got out, and smiled. Lame, lame beyond imagination, and hardly a conversation-starter, but not rude, at least. He had managed to avoid that much.

"Elijah," Dom scolded him lightly. "You're putting the poor man on the spot."

The guy frowned a little. "Sir, um," he said, and Elijah squinted to read the name on his nameplate. "Sean," it said, small and faded, in the corner, with the red dot signifying his status as a Shameful nearly blotting out the 'S'. "We're not really supposed to, uh, talk to the--"

"Customers, I know," Elijah smiled, then winked, tilting his head towards Dom. "I'll just say you're with me, okay?" He laughed, and Sean ducked his head to hide a small smile. Of course there was no way Sean would ever be "with" Elijah, in any manner. The Law made sure of that. Elijah glanced over his shoulders casually, and held up his hands. He didn't miss Dom's amused stare. "See? All clear," he said. "I'm just curious."

The corner of Sean's mouth pulled up a little. "It's been pretty nice, sir," he admitted. "I only got out of the factory work and into this because I went to college."

Elijah raised his eyebrows. "College-- really? Did you graduate?"

Sean's eyes darted up, over Elijah's shoulder, and Elijah got a clear glimpse of them now: a patchwork of greens and browns scattered within. He found himself wincing; those eyes would brand Sean even if he weren't already wearing a tag to do the trick. Elijah checked behind him again to make sure the coast was clear, and looked to Dom for confirmation. They were safe, but Sean grabbed his pitcher abruptly all the same, dusting at the small water ring it left on the table and withdrawing.

"Your server should be with you in a minute," he mumbled, turning, and ducked into the kitchen.

"What were you saying earlier about me being a guy magnet?" Dom asked, scratching his chin innocently. At Elijah's stare, he scowled. "Oh come on, Elijah, as if you weren't staring. He wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but if you're just looking and not touching...." he shrugged.

"I wasn't staring," Elijah said. He felt his face grow warm and hoped Dom didn't choose to pick up on it.

Their server was an inept slip of a sixteen-year old - a Green - who spilled their coffee and forgot to offer them refills. Elijah left her crumpled one-dollar bills for her tip and patted himself on the back for not asking how long she'd been working there.

\--

Elijah went to The Valkyrie alone the next day, questions churning over in his mind. When the hostess led him inside, he interrupted her to ask for the same table he and Dom had sat in the day before, then settled for the one beside it. As he sat, chuckling to himself, he thought this was precisely why he hadn't invited Dom along this time.

"What college did you go to? UC Common?" he asked abruptly, as Sean set a glass down before him and began to fill it. He knew it had to be UC Common, since that was the only college for Shamefuls in the state, but he wanted to give Sean an easy yes-or-no confirmation to start.

Another furtive glance around him, and Sean nodded. "Class of '00, graduated with honors in English," he said softly. He said the words like they were still a thing of wonder for him. He made a clean swipe at the table and drew back. "Your server will be--"

"Wow, honors," Elijah interrupted. So how old would that make him? Maybe Elijah had over-reached on the age guess. "Wait! Sean?" he stopped Sean before he could leave, and they both checked for spectators this time. "I'm Elijah," he said. "Can I ask you some questions sometime?"

Sean shook his head, slowly at first, then more emphatically. "I can't-" he said, flustered. "I told you we can't--"

"I meant, when do you get off work today," Elijah said. He reached out, unthinking, to touch Sean's hand and calm him. Sean pulled back like he'd been burned, and Elijah withdrew as well, both hands up in surrender and surprise. He'd have to plead temporary insanity later, intense curiosity having made him lose his mind and his judgment. He looked at Sean, wide-eyed and a little out of breath, and thought about counting the green patches in his eyes before Sean fled.

"Seven-thirty," Sean breathed, and was gone.

\--

Elijah's license plate read "ELILABLU", and he'd always been a little sheepish about it - the car had been a gift from his father when Elijah turned 21 - but now he was downright ashamed of it, driving by the alley outside of the restaurant. He spied Sean lurking around the corner and got out, his sunglasses on despite the dark, to greet him.

"Hey," he said, when Sean looked up. "You waited."

"So did you." Sean nodded to Elijah's Beetle. "That's a nice car," he said. "Is it brand new?"

"It's a year old," Elijah said. He waited until Sean had gotten inside the car to take his sunglasses off, then smiled. "You know any good places we can talk?"

Sean smiled back, tentatively. "None you'd like," he admitted.

"Try me."

He was a little doubtful, following the directions Sean was giving him, that he'd be able to navigate his way out of this mess once they'd arrived. Sean assured him that his car would be safe if he parked in the back rather than on the street, and Elijah hoped he was right. Sean _had_ been right about the establishment, though: the place was a dive. Elijah had, in fact, been to several places he'd considered to be dives, and they were all luxurious compared to this.

It was packed and smoke-filled - the government seemed to care far less about the health and building regulations when it came to Shamefuls - and the fact that he had on his sunglasses again wasn't making the crush of bodies any easier to squeeze through. Elijah caught himself staring over and over again as he and Sean made their way to a vacant booth. He'd expected the patrons, all of whom were Shamefuls, to be more... he didn't know. Dirty. More unkempt. He'd expected this even though Sean was neither of these things. He'd sort of assumed it was a work requirement, that they be forced to clean themselves up a little. Looking at these otherwise respectable people in this dingy shithole made him too aware of his own prejudices, made him uneasy with guilt. He kept close to Sean and kept his mouth shut.

He wasn't too slack-jawed to forget his manners when the waitress came by to take their orders. "You've gotta be kidding," he said, when Sean reached for his wallet to buy their beers. "I've got it, thanks," he told the waitress, whose eyes were dark but whose color he couldn't exactly make out, as he handed her a twenty. There was no colorful dot on her nametag, only a cursive "Helen". He supposed it didn't really matter what color her eyes were, here, but it was the first time he could remember when he couldn't tell and didn't feel right asking.

Sean was studying him intently when Elijah turned his attention back to him. "I appreciate your generosity, Elijah, but don't feel you have to pick up the tab for me. I can afford it," he said politely, but the sternness in his voice was unmistakable.

Elijah realized with a jolt that this was Sean's domain now, and that he should be the one in control. "Of course," he said immediately. "I didn't. I mean, I wouldn't say you--" he stopped, laughing at himself. "You know, I don't think I've done one thing right so far today," he said. He took off his sunglasses and rested them on the table between them, rummaging for a cigarette with his free hand. "I'm sorry. Do you mind?" He held up the cigarette and Sean shook his head, leaning back in his end of the booth while Elijah lit it.

Sean's eyes were fierce, lit up by the yellow glow of the lamp in their booth. Elijah was grateful for that light, for the opportunity to watch the patchwork of colors in the eyes across from his. "Are all the bars like this?" he asked, once he'd taken the first drag and exhaled. He waved a hand when Sean looked at him quizzically. "No colors on the nametags," he explained. "Everybody sort of..."

"Together?" Sean smiled wryly. He reached forward, snagging the matchbox from Elijah's ashtray, and started flipping it between his fingers. "That's pretty much the point, isn't it? What makes us Shameful?" He sat back again. "This is one of the nicer places," he confessed. "I noticed you were impressed."

"It's just." Elijah shrugged, embarrassed. He felt a flush creep up into his face, and now he cursed the same lighting he'd praised a moment earlier. "I'm sorry," he said again. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea." He sighed. "You must think I'm an such an asshole."

"Not at all," Sean shook his head. "I always reserve that judgment for later." They shared an uneasy laugh, then Sean watched him carefully for a long moment. "You wanted to ask me some questions," he said.

"Yes! Right. yes." Elijah came to himself suddenly, nodding. He waved away the smoke he'd just exhaled and leaned in. "I wanted to--"

"Actually, I have a question for you first," Sean interrupted.

"Oh." Elijah sat back, caught off guard. "Okay." He drank from his bottle, a slow swig.

"Why?" Sean tossed the matchbox he'd been playing with on the table and folded his arms. "Why would a nice, well-bred Blue young man such as yourself condescend to socialize with a Shameful in a bar of questionable repute?"

"Because you're not allowed to talk to the customers?" Elijah smiled.

"Nice try." Sean was smiling, but waiting. "I'm honestly curious," he prompted.

 _Because I've never seen eyes like yours before. Because I'm impressed by you._ "Because I. Because I've never seen a Shameful working at The Valkyrie, and me and my friend go there all the time," Elijah started. "And you said you went to college, and I thought, 'wow, I've never known a Shameful who went to college before,' and--"

"Honestly, how many Shamefuls do you know, Elijah?" Sean asked him.

"Counting you?" Elijah said weakly.

Sean laughed, and took a sip of his beer. "Okay, you don't have to answer that," he said. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the beginnings of crow's feet, and all Elijah could see now was the brown in his irises.

"Your eyes are," he heard the words come out before he could stop himself. "So different," he said, lamely. "I kinda wanted to, um. I wanted to see you more."

He stared for a moment, feeling terribly exposed and watching Sean's smile fade, before Sean nodded, ducking his head self-consciously. "That's fair." Sean cleared his throat. "So what was it you wanted to know about me?"

"Why did you go to college?" Elijah asked without thinking. He'd already been up all night with the question formed in his brain.

Sean shrugged. "I couldn't imagine _not_ going. I love to read, I love to learn, I wanted to educate myself." He leaned forward again, arms unfolded now. His eyes shone with a sudden passion Elijah hadn't yet seen, and his voice took on a far-off quality. "I wanted to know more about the world out there, about people and culture and literature. I wanted to know what makes people think and act the way they do, I wanted to better myself. I wanted to get a better job," he added, frowning appraisingly. "And I thought." He paused, considering. "I thought that maybe if I learned more about the Law, I could--" again, he cut himself off.

Elijah raised his eyebrows. "Could what?" he prodded.

"I thought maybe I could fight it, or change it," Sean said softly, then glanced up at Elijah briefly. "Like they say, knowledge is power, and maybe I wouldn't be a victim anymore if I understood what made the world this way."

Elijah smiled sympathetically. "So what happened?"

Sean smirked sadly. "There were no courses on the Law in college," he said. "Plus," he went on, "the professors there were all PEAs, obviously, so--"

Elijah interrupted him. "Wait, they were all what?"

"PEAs," Sean said, again spelling it out. He looked a little sheepish as he explained, "Perfect-Eyed Assholes."

Elijah laughed in disbelief. "That's what you call us?"

"You call us _Shameful_ , Elijah," Sean said slowly. "Do you know what that word's meant to do? You know it's meant to demoralize us before we even know what it's supposed to mean?" Agitated, he went on, hands waving again. "Shame is such an incredibly powerful tool for robbing people of their dignity. It condemns us for crimes we didn't even commit, like we should apologize for being born. It. It turns _love_ \- pure, self-sacrificing, spontaneous love - _into_ a crime. It--" He pressed his lips together tightly in frustration, then blew out a breath. "It's a terrible, terrible word," he said simply.

It seemed to Elijah that Sean had learned plenty about the Law in college. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He looked down at the table and flicked ash into the ashtray and tried to disappear for a moment. "I'm sorry for asking."

"Don't be sorry," Sean said, his voice grim. "We haven't got any other name."

\--

"Here's good," Sean said suddenly, when Elijah rounded the corner, coming up on a string of apartments creating one long brick facade down the block. "I'm a few buildings down, but I can walk it." He unbuckled his seatbelt as Elijah slowed. "If you keep heading down this way, you can get on the ninety--"

"Yeah, I think I'll be fine," Elijah said. He watched Sean get out and stand uncertainly on the sidewalk, and realized he could think of nothing to say. If this were a date, he'd make a self-consciously flirty comment. If it were Dom, he'd playfully call out an insult for Dom to rally back. Technically, Elijah thought, if Sean were anything different, he _would_ consider this a date. Certainly if his clammy hands and dry mouth and churning stomach had any say, they would agree. "What time do you work tomorrow?" he asked finally, a neutral proposition. No need to get excited over the impossible.

"Same time," Sean answered, his hand on top of the passenger door. "I always work the same time."

"Then we should do this again," Elijah suggested. "You can ask me whatever you want," he offered, smiling.

Sean hesitated. "Yeah, maybe," he said, a ghost of a smile on his face, and shut the door.

\--

"You took him out?" Dom put his feet on the ottoman in front of the sofa in Elijah's guest house apartment and popped the top off a juice bottle. "On a date, like?" He took a swig.

Elijah frowned over at him from the kitchen. "Not a date," he said. "Drinks."

"Oh, 'cause that's better."

"Well, 'date' implies I wanted to get into his pants, and I didn't." Elijah came around and sat next to him, leaning against Dom's shoulder. He fiddled with the TV remote in his hands, picking at the plastic guard wrap that he never got around to peeling off completely. It was frayed around the edges and Elijah kept pressing it down, fingers roaming around the keys like it was important that it remained just so. "I wanted to get into his... mind."

"There's nothing wrong with it, Elijah," Dom said gently. He draped his arm over the back of the sofa and dipped it close to Elijah's head, his fingers touching Elijah's shoulder. "Just, you know. If people start asking--"

"There's nothing to ask about," Elijah said. "Just because you're into inter-color raves doesn't mean--" he sighed. "It's just, they can be so fucking uptight about it." There was no need for him to specify who "they" were.

"Well, he's a Shameful, so it's a whole different story, really," Dom agreed. "So, did you get into his mind?"

Elijah nodded. Dom's thumb brushed his ear, and he scratched at it absently. "I think we might do it again sometime," he admitted. He sat up a bit and looked back at Dom. "Did you know he graduated college with honors?"

"I did not know that." Dom made an affirmative noise in his throat, and finished his drink. "It's a real shame," he said, setting it down, "if you'll pardon the pun. But be careful, yeah? I don't want to hear about you on the five-o'clock news or anything."

"Dom, it's just drinks," he felt the need to re-iterate.

"But you like him," Dom said.

Elijah shook his head. "That's irrelevant."

Dom shrugged, nudging Elijah's temple with his shoulder. "If you say so."

\--

"So you're telling me that for four years you've majored in life experience," Sean said. His eyes twinkled above the mouth of his beer bottle as he took a sip.

Elijah shook his head. "No, that's what _you're_ saying. I'm saying all I've _had_ for four years is life experience, which isn't the same thing at _all_."

"Hey, college is what you make of it," Sean shrugged. He swirled the beer in his bottle carefully. "So did you travel? See the world?"

"Well, I spent a year in New York being a theater brat," Elijah said. "Thought about being an actor and auditioned for some things that never came through. Hung out in Cancun, went with the family to the Bahamas."

"I said see the _world_ ," Sean smiled. "Are things the same there?" he asked. "All the places you've been, I mean."

Elijah knew what he meant. "Yeah," he said softly. He took a thoughtful drag off of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the thin line of smoke trail up and blend with the sickly yellow of the booth lamp. A year in New York and it had been so carefully sanitized that he couldn't even remember seeing a Shameful. The homeless blended into the scenery like so many potted plants on so many windowsills and Elijah hadn't thought twice about it.

Sean nodded, tapping a finger on Elijah's discarded sunglasses, and sighed. "It makes it harder when I can see why," he said. "Why you're supposed to be special."

"Special?" Elijah laughed. Special, he was beginning to think, consisted of eyes that shimmered between shades of gold and green.

"Well, you've probably heard this from virtually everyone you've known from birth onward," Sean said.

"Blue eyes are sort of dime a dozen to me," Elijah said, embarrassed now. He tried to duck away from Sean's gaze, but found he couldn't. Didn't want to.

"Maybe in _your_ world," Sean said. "But I highly doubt they're all like yours, anyway. You ever see the ocean on a perfectly clear morning, before it's taken on the blue of the atmosphere?"

"Yeah?"

"Whenever I see pictures of it," Sean said, "your eyes look just like that. Just. Huge and clear and blue and endless." He sighed and leaned back. "I probably shouldn't say that. I don't want to give you the wrong impression. It was just something I noticed."

"It's okay," Elijah heard himself say, his throat suddenly tight. "I won't tell. I won't tell anyone I think your eyes are special, too."

"Of course," Sean said, his tone flip, "you haven't spent half your life being told that the green in your eyes meant you were dumb as a plant and the brown meant you had shit for brains."

Elijah propped his chin up on his fist and thought about that. "Well, I think they're pretty," he said honestly. They were. He was quickly becoming obsessed with the blend, the way the two colors co-existed without bleeding into one another. They could so easily have blurred into a murky, sickly combination, and yet somehow, in Sean's eyes, the integrity - the purity, Elijah dared to think the word - was preserved. Maybe they were even more than pretty, something he hadn't thought up a word for, or something he was afraid to say.

Sean gave him a hard look, shaking his head. "No, you don't, Elijah," he said carefully.

\--

On his way home Elijah checked his cell for messages. One from Dom, asking if Elijah was going to share details or if Dom would have to beg for them - wanker, Elijah thought fondly - and one from Hannah. "When are you getting home?" she asked. "I left my psychology text in your room and I'm going out tonight. It's ten of eight and I'll be gone in an hour. Call me!"

Elijah checked the time and whistled low. "Tough luck, kiddo," he muttered; it was nine.

She was at the door waiting when he pulled up in the driveway. "Thanks a lot," she said, when he reached her. "I made my friends go ahead without me for this!"

"I didn't get your message until I was already on my way home," he explained, letting her in ahead of him. "Get mom to let you in next time if it's that important."

"Mom and dad are at a party," was the sullen reply, as they made their way to his bedroom. " _I_ was supposed to be at a party," she added. "Will you drive me?"

Elijah flicked on his lights and turned on the TV, sitting at his computer to check his e-mail. "What, now I'm the chauffeur, too?"

"Well, you have to make it up to me," Hannah said. "Besides, then Ann and Lisa can drive me home." She lifted one of his pillows and looked under it. "Come on, Elijah, mom and dad have the other car, or I wouldn't have asked and I wouldn't have needed to wait for you to get home." She looked under his other pillow.

"Fine," Elijah gave in. "Try looking on the floor."

"I'm pretty sure I left it on your bed last time."

"Yeah," Elijah rolled his eyes, "but I've _slept_ in the bed since then, so try looking on the floor." He watched her kick his clothes aside disdainfully for a moment, then thought _what the hell_ and spoke his mind. "Hey, Hannah, you ever meet a Shameful before?"

Hannah looked up and toed one of his shirts thoughtfully. "Met as in exchanged names?" She shook her head. "No. Why, you?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, a guy who works at The Valkyrie."

"A Shameful works at The Valkyrie?"

"Exactly," Elijah said. "He's a college graduate. Got out of factory work because of it. Isn't that interesting?"

"I guess." Hannah squatted and lifted one of his sneakers, gasping when she found her text. "Elijah, this is disgusting," she exclaimed, dusting off the cover and tucking it under her arm as she stood. "So, is that why you were late tonight? You were at The Valkyrie?"

"No, I went for a beer with the guy," he said. "We talked for a bit."

Hannah scoffed in disbelief. "You didn't take my calls 'cause you were _slumming_?"

Something about the way she said it set Elijah's teeth on edge. "Is that what your psych text calls it?" his voice came out sharper than he expected. "'Cause I would call it getting to know someone."

"It's slumming if it's a Shameful, which you have no reason for talking to in the first place," she explained, as if speaking to someone very stupid. "I don't need my psych text to tell me that much."

"Hey, how would you like to walk to your party?" he suggested sweetly.

She had the gall to look hurt by that. "Since when are you the champion of the Shameful cause?" she asked.

"I'm not the champion of anything," he said. "But I'm sure you can think about it while you're walking to the party."

"Fine," she said. She hurled his sneaker at his head and missed, hitting the stack of CDs by his computer instead. She had the door shut behind her by the time he could reach it, and he didn't bother to threaten her life; it would be redundant.

\--

Elijah thought it was saying a lot for Sean to let him into his apartment, and the desperate nervousness that coiled in the pit of his stomach warned him not to screw it up. They hadn't said anything to each other about the implications, as if it were a dream that could burst into harsh reality at one wrong mention. "It's not much," Sean said, tugging on a string overhead to turn on the light, "but it's home."

Elijah looked around, stepping tentatively out of the foyer and turning into the kitchen. It was small, but tidy; Sean had more bookshelves than furniture. "I like it," he said, fingering the spines of the books nearest to him. "It's really, um, really..." a few steps into the kitchen he faltered, feeling for the light switch.

Sean laughed and reached past him to pull another string, and they were bathed in more buzzing light from overhead. "You don't have to say it," he told him. "I know it's small."

"I was going to say 'quaint'," Elijah smiled. "It seemed appropriate." He spotted some movement from under the stove and glanced at Sean in alarm.

Sean nodded, making a face. "I can't get an exterminator to come in here," he said apologetically. "I try to keep it clean, but..." he shook his head.

"I don't mind," Elijah said, but backed out quickly. "Where do you sleep?" he asked, when he realized the living room didn't extend into a hallway.

"The sofa's a fold-out," Sean said, still in the kitchen, then "wait, the--" as Elijah sat down hard on it. He winced, and tried bouncing on it a few times, but there was no give.

"Are there even springs in this?" he asked, amazed.

"I think they're all shot." Sean came over with a drink and handed it to Elijah. He reached over and pressed down on the cushions with his fingers to test it. "I've had it since I was fifteen," he explained, "but if it was any better then, I can't remember."

"Fifteen," Elijah mused. "So that's..." he raised his eyebrows helplessly.

"Eighteen years," Sean confirmed with a small smile, sitting next to Elijah. "I've scrimped," he admitted. "I had to save up enough money for school, 'cause. Well, you know, we can't-- they don't let us get any help for it, so."

Elijah had known that. "Yeah," he said simply, and worked out the math in his head. Eighteen years; so that explained the age gap. He couldn't imagine putting off college for seven years, let alone working all that time just to earn enough money to go.

"I've gotten so used to it, though," Sean was saying, jolting Elijah out of his thoughts. "I could probably stand to get a new one. Bed, I mean."

Elijah hummed his agreement, then set his drink down on the coffee table, swiping the moisture from the bottom of the glass with his hand. "Um. I'm not sure how to ask this," he said. "Did you, um. ever get to know anything about your parents?" He'd always wondered what happened to the children, the Shameful, when they were young - with a mother imprisoned for life and father executed by Asphyxiation even before their births, he wondered what kind of impact that would have on a person. As if being a Shameful weren't enough.

Sean shrugged. "No," he said. "I know my father was a Green. My mother was a Brown, but she died when I was four." His voice took on a far-off quality, and he looked away, bowing his head. He seemed strangely angelic to Elijah when he did that; a wounded, tender angel drenched in yet more sick yellow light. "I don't remember her very much," he said, "just pictures, snapshots, really." He sighed. "So I was raised in a foster home 'til I was fifteen, left as soon as I could get my working papers and I haven't been in touch with them since."

Elijah frowned. "Your foster family wasn't good to you?"

Another shrug. "They provided for me, kept me healthy," he said, and then he spoke more sharply, frowning. "Called my mother a whore for sleeping with a Green and told me she deserved to be Asphyxiated." He looked up at Elijah, his expression grim. "Every single day." He shook his head abruptly as if to disengage any bad feelings, and gestured to Elijah. "You don't have any skeletons in your closet? Any dark family secrets I should know about?"

Elijah liked the sound of that, liked the thought that there were things about him that Sean should know. "Well," he began, "there was a huge scandal three or four generations back when some great-aunt fell in love with a Green or something." He suddenly remembered how the story had ended and the smile dropped from his face. "Um. Her dad - my great great grandfather - killed her and her lover in a fit of rage when he found out."

"Well, you gotta keep those family lines pure, after all," Sean said, nodding sagely, lips pursed. Elijah tried and failed to detect any sarcasm in his voice.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Everyone in my family sure seems to think it was for the better, at least." He glanced sideways at Sean, sheepishly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up such a downer."

"Well come on, Elijah," Sean said. "It's not like I wouldn't play by the rules if I had any choice in the matter."

Elijah smiled a little and nudged Sean with his shoulder. "You?" he asked, amused. "Mister 'Learn about The Law so I can Fight It?'"

"I said 'if I had any choice'," Sean said. Elijah noticed that he did not shy away from his touch, and suddenly he was aware of the entire side of his body pressed up against Sean's, hands touching. He wasn't sure if he had moved or if Sean had. "Do you even know what you're doing?" Sean murmured. Elijah couldn't remember when he'd gotten this close. From here Sean's eyes were gilt-edged and emerald, and Elijah knew exactly what he was doing, exactly what he wanted.

\--

"I found it," Hannah declared, book open and displayed in her hands when Elijah opened the door to her. He didn't respond, just stepped back and slammed it shut behind her without a word. If she noticed, she didn't acknowledge it. "You've never done a daring thing in your life," she said, following him back into the living room, "so you're rebelling."

"You know I took the same classes as you, right?" Elijah said, blowing out smoke with a particularly fierce gust of air. He sank into his sofa and covered his eyes with one hand, as if he could make Hannah go away by blocking her from vision. Like an ostrich, he thought, with their huge round eyes and pea-sized brains. He wondered if all ostriches had the same eye color.

"So where were you last night?" Hannah challenged, pulling up the ottoman to sit across from him.

"None of your damn business."

"It's Mom's business. She was asking."

"Well then she can _call_ me and ask me." He sighed, exasperated. "Fuck, Hannah, you should just leave if you're gonna--"

"You know what I think?"

"No," he cried, "and I don't care!"

"I think you're spending time with this Shameful guy because it makes you feel dangerous. You know; screwing the Law and fucking authority and crawling all over him like he's normal--"

Elijah ground his teeth. "He _is_ normal," he said.

"--it's like this underground culture thing. I've heard a lot about it," she said, nodding authoritatively. She leaned forward like she was telling him something important. Like she had anything to say he couldn't already anticipate. "What color are his eyes, Lij?"

Narrowing his eyes at her, he shook his head, sucking furiously on his cigarette. "You don't even deser--"

"Just a color," she interrupted, shrugging. "Just tell me." At his glare, she sighed. "See, he's not normal, Elijah. He may be really nice. And he may even be smart like you say he is. But you've seen those eyes, and whatever color they are, you know they're not normal, too."

He was so angry he was shaking. He could feel tears of frustration building behind his eyes and there was no way on the planet he'd let her see them. "Get the fuck out of my apartment," he said evenly. He looked up at Hannah, holding her gaze steady, and tried not to blink. He was sorry he'd even talked to her in the first place. It hurt, to hate her as much as he did right now.

"I'm telling Mom." Her voice was just as even as his had been as she rose to her feet and picked up her book again.

It had been over the moment he'd made up his mind, hadn't it? Elijah wondered. "You do that," he said.

\--

"Tell me I'm not crazy, Dom."

"Lij, you're not crazy," Dom assured him. "Why are you not crazy?"

"Me and Sean--we. I--"

"Jesus, Elijah," he could hear the grin in Dom's voice over the phone, "it's about bloody time. Was it that fantastic?"

"We haven't," Elijah sighed. "There's. Am I wrong? For doing this? For even wanting to?"

"You're not wrong. It's _illegal_ , not wrong. There's a difference."

"Is there really?" Elijah asked sullenly. He hesitated. "Hannah says I'm doing it just to be dangerous."

"Rubbish," Dom declared. " _I'd_ do it just to be dangerous. You're doing it because.... fill in the blanks here...."

"He's amazing," Elijah said. "Incredible. Smart. Beautiful. Passionate."

"You're doing it because he's amazing," Dom repeated after him. "And, apparently, god-like. Leaps tall buildings in a single bound. Faster than a speeding bullet."

"She's gonna tell Mom," he said.

"Oh, that's-- that's probably just. a threat, you know?" Dom's voice cracked a little, and Elijah rested his forehead on the coffee table, defeated. He felt feverish with anxiety, knowing it all came down to this. "What are you gonna do?" Dom asked, and he swallowed hard.

"I don't know," he admitted. He struggled to glimpse his reflection in the glass table. "I'm. I would say I'm scared, but I. I can't stop it here. I won't. Why does this have to be so hard?" He wasn't asking Dom in particular, but he hoped that somehow Dom would find an answer.

"Has anything ever really been hard in your life, Elijah?" Dom asked gently. His voice sounded strained. Elijah thought of Blue-Gray eyes and misplaced IDs and the threats authority figures made when Dom failed to prove he was a person worth respecting. "I think. You asked what I think, right?"

Elijah nodded into the phone ineffectually, then whispered, "yeah."

"I think. I think it's good that this is the _hardest_ thing you'll ever have to face," Dom said. "Anybody asks, you were with me last night. And tomorrow night. And any other night."

\--

"I have a private drive, Sean, there's nothing to worry about." Elijah smiled over at him as he drove. "I just want to return the favor, since you let me see your place," he said, as innocuously as he could manage.

"It's not so much the private drive I'm worried about, as what happens if the police pull us over before we get there," Sean muttered, sinking a little further in his seat like it could hide him from view completely. He had his head resting on his hand, surreptitiously blocking the line of sight from the passenger window to his eyes.

"Well, we're not doing anything wrong by driving around," Elijah said.

"Ever heard of police brutality?" Sean replied. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

Elijah ignored him, jaw set firmly. "We're here," he announced, when they passed the Wood mailbox. He turned up the gravel drive that led past the main house to the guest suite, and Sean grabbed at his arm.

"Elijah, stop and think for a second," he pleaded. "Maybe we shouldn't do this."

He parked and shut off his lights, and moonlight flooded the car, giving everything an eerie bluish glow. Of course blue, he thought bitterly. Everything was blue here, constantly. Sean was the only spot of real color. "Is there anywhere you'd rather be right now?" he asked.

Sean shook his head. "That's not a fair question," he said, choked, "and you know it."

"No, it's not fair," Elijah said. "Sean, I," he searched his eyes plaintively. "I can't stop thinking about you, okay, I just. I wake up in the morning and I wait all day, thinking 'how long until Sean gets off tonight and I can see him again?'"

"Elijah, I--"

"Listen to me, Sean," Elijah interrupted. "I know it sounds like I'm feeding you a line, some lame pick-up story or something, but I swear to you." He put his hand on Sean's shoulder, sliding it up to the side of Sean's neck. He could feel Sean's pulse beating rapidly against his hand, and smiled. "If it kills me, I'm going to take you inside with me tonight."

Sean reached out for him tentatively, and Elijah tilted his head towards Sean's hand until the two met, Sean's fingers lightly brushing his temple. He closed his eyes, and then opened them again, because this, Sean's face moving towards his, was not something he wanted to miss. He had to blink away the mist in his eyes and then he could see that there were tears in Sean's eyes, too, which squeezed out the sides when he closed them. And then they were too close for examination and Elijah opened his mouth and Sean was there.

"We shouldn't," Sean sobbed against Elijah when they broke apart for air, hands cupping Elijah's face. "They'll. Elijah, you can't be--"

"But, see, I don't care," Elijah whispered, and kissed him again. "I don't care, Sean. We'll be careful, we'll. We never have to leave my room if you don't want to. If I had any choice in the matter," he smiled, echoing Sean, "I'd give this all up."

"Elijah," there was a warning in Sean's voice. "No."

"I would," Elijah said, pressing his lips to Sean's mouth, to his chin, to his cheeks. He gripped Sean's lapels in his hands and pulled Sean in until he could feel his own thumbs against his jacket. "I'd come live with you, and feed the roaches, and inhale asbestos," he kissed the tip of Sean's nose, "and die young and happy and in-- in love."

Sean pulled back, slowly, and blinked more tears from his eyes. "But I don't want you to," he said.

Elijah loosened his grip as Sean slid out of reach. "What. What? I don't. What do you mean?"

Putting a hand over his eyes, Sean sighed, a heavy sound that hung in the cab of the car. "This is my life, Elijah," he said. "It's all I have, and it's all I'll ever have, and maybe at some point I thought I could do better, but the fact is I can't." He peeked at Elijah then, face suddenly weary. "And what you're talking about is impossible. They'd lock you up, Elijah."

Elijah shook his head. "I said I didn't care. What happened to all the hope you had, Sean? What happened to-- maybe you can't change things by yourself, but what if we can, together?"

Sean laughed. Actually laughed, a watery smile spreading on his face and humorless chuckles shaking his body. "Elijah, my God, you're twenty two and the world is so simple and ideal for you, isn't it?"

"I know it's not that simple, Sean, it's not like I'm a fucking child!" Elijah said defensively, dropping his hand to Sean's knee. He rubbed it in consolation for his tone. "I know it won't be easy, I know we'll have to keep it secret, but. Isn't it worth it? Isn't it worth a try?"

"Maybe you should try," Sean said. "Raise your kids to know better."

"Sean, there's no way in--"

Sean spoke up over him. "Be open-minded and inform people. If you," he pointed at Elijah, "you, yourself, spread awareness, then yes, maybe you can start something. Maybe your kids will live to start a revolution. Maybe _then_ things will begin to change. But not in my lifetime. Do you understand? Don't try to start it with us, Elijah, because you won't be heard and I don't want to lose you like that."

Elijah watched Sean talk, retreating into the words and places that made him comfortable, and wasn't entirely sure that he was hearing what Sean was saying anymore. He knew already that at no point in his life was he willing to have a normal existence by his family's standards; of marriage to a nice Blue girl, raising a nice Blue family and keeping the line of the Los Angeles Woods pure and crystal clear. His dreams were full of greens and browns and hazels, now, full of the lost potential of brilliant Shamefuls who had never gotten the chance to prove their worth. "But I want you," he said simply, his voice catching around the lump in his throat. "Isn't it." He swallowed. "How else can I have you?"

"God, Lij," Sean said, laughing again, only this time he looked like he meant it, leaning close once more. "You can have me right now." He kissed Elijah again, and they clung together for a moment, foreheads touching. "Just don't expect it to change anything."

Strangely, when they got inside the guest house, there seemed to be nothing left to say. Elijah learned that his hands spanned Sean's shoulderblades, and his mouth fit snugly in the dip of his collarbone, all without saying a word. He learned that Sean's eyes filled with darkened green in lust, pinning Elijah back on his pillow with a stare, and he learned that he rather liked being pinned. He learned that the breathy way Sean gasped his name the first time would send the same shivers down his spine the second time. He learned to live the night as if it were his last. Sean taught him that.

\--

Sean frowned when he saw Elijah at The Valkyrie an hour before his shift ended, and Elijah didn't know what he should make of that. "You didn't tell me you were coming back," Sean said, eyes on his hands as he poured out water.

"Why would I not come back?" Elijah asked. "I didn't even get a proper good-bye this morning." Dawn had come with alarming rapidity and he had driven Sean back to his apartment through a haze of sleep, too tired to accept more than a kiss before Sean left the car. He wasn't complaining; he'd rather be grateful for small mercies by now. "Besides," he added. "It's like habit, coming here."

"Yeah, and it." Sean made busywork of straightening the salt and pepper shakers. "Now is when you should probably stop." Elijah gaped at him, and he continued, "I don't want them to have anything to pin on you. On _us_."

"They don't have any--"

"Trust me on this," Sean said earnestly, and picked up his pitcher. "I'll see you after--"

"Astin!" the restaurant manager bellowed, making Elijah jump. Sean cringed only slightly, but held his posture straight as he responded. "Thomas," the tag on the manager's well-pressed shirt read. A Brown.

"Yes, sir."

"What was the first thing I told you when I hired you?"

Sean pursed his lips. "No fraternizing with the customers, sir."

"Was that it?" Thomas prodded, putting his hands on his hips. Elijah was reminded of a teacher scolding a small child. He watched with wide eyes, horrified, his gaze switching from Sean to Thomas and back again.

Sean hesitated before answering. "No, sir," he said, staring at some point just to the left of Thomas' head.

"What? Speak up, kid."

Sean cleared his throat, then said, "you said 'on pain of discharge,' sir."

"Thank you." Thomas nodded, satisfied. "Get your things, this is your last day."

Elijah opened his mouth to protest, watching Sean, but Sean hit him with a sudden glare and he froze, half-way out of his seat. Thomas turned to him then. "I apologize for any misunderstandings, sir," he said, in a voice syrupy sweet in comparison to the tone he'd taken with Sean. "Your meal will be on the house."

"Oh, no, no, that's--" Elijah shook his head and stood up the rest of the way. He extended a hand. "I'm Elijah Wood, of the Los Angeles Woods?" From Thomas' expression, he knew the name rang a bell or two. "Could I talk to you about this in private?" Elijah forced a smile, glancing at Sean in time to get a fierce look of disapproval before Sean spun and headed for the kitchen.

For a moment, Thomas looked flustered. "Absolutely," he blurted. Then he took Elijah's hand, shaking it limply, and Elijah's smile brightened into a real one. Like taking candy from a baby, he thought, and wanted to tell Sean not to pack his things so quickly. He was just glad to help.

\--

Thomas didn't see things Elijah's way. "Oh, no, we can't do that," he said, when Elijah stated his case.

Elijah frowned. "What do you mean? _I'm_ the one who was talking to him. I can write you a letter. I can write you a letter on my father's _stationary_ , if you want. He wasn't doing anything wrong."

"Yeah, see," Thomas started, and the condescension in his tone was unmistakable. Elijah wanted to wring his smug little neck, safely seated behind his pretentious desk in his ridiculous back-room office. "We can't bend the rules just because you've taken a liking to some--" his mouth twisted-- "Shameful."

"Well, if I'm the only witness, you can," Elijah said tightly.

"I already bent the rules by hiring a Shameful in the first place," Thomas said, matching his tone. "Other patrons have complained, you know. They don't like having him around, and it isn't like he can't be replaced, either."

Elijah sighed, reaching for his wallet. "Is it, um. Do you require damages? Would that do it?" At Thomas' blank stare, he explained. "Look, _this_ patron doesn't want him replaced. Is that worth anything to you?"

Thomas frowned in careful thought for a long moment, then folded his hands suddenly over the table. "I'll tell you what," he said. "Give me your contact information, and I'll see what I can do for you."

Elijah got the message. All it would take was one inquiry and they would be fucked, truly, because once you were under the radar of The Law, you never really got out: what you got was caught. He pushed back his chair and hoped that his expression passed for a pleasant one. "That won't be necessary," he said lightly. "I just wanted us to reach an agreement, but if not," he shrugged and held up his hands helplessly. "It was worth a try."

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you, Mr. Wood," Thomas said. He remained seated. Elijah longed to punch his arrogant mouth.

"It's not a problem," he said, smiled, and let himself out.

\--

He found Sean with his back pressed against the wall behind the restaurant. "Why," Sean gasped, curling into himself, "Why, Elijah, do you think you know more about this than I do? Why did I do this? Why did I let you?" He tilted his head back against the wall and struggled for air, one hand rubbing absently at his chest. One glance and Sean had known everything Elijah had just had to be told, and Elijah leaned against the wall next to him, feeling stupid. His hands fluttered, unsure what to do. He patted his pockets for his cigarettes and lit one, nicotine and relief flooding through him at once.

"I just wanted to make it up to you," he said softly. "I'm sorry-- I'm so sorry, I didn't." he stopped. There didn't seem to be anything he could say. Sean was drawing in great gulps of air and it occurred to Elijah that he might be hyperventilating. "Sean," he said, alarmed. "Are you-- do you need me to--" he reached out weakly, and Sean batted him away. Elijah glanced over his shoulder at the street beyond the alley. It was too close to them; the need to flee was creeping into Elijah's bones and making him jittery on top of everything else.

"I feel like I'm dying," Sean said, on the verge of tears. "I can't go back there," he sobbed, "Elijah, I can't." He sank to the ground tailbone-first and put his head between his spread knees. Elijah knew Sean was talking about the factories, where working conditions were abysmal and so many Shameful were injured or killed on the job that it didn't even make the news anymore to hear it happen. Sean had worked so hard to escape that fate and the thought that he'd be forced to go back to it was so patently unfair that Elijah couldn't stand it.

"Sean, I," Elijah said, wiping angrily at his eyes. _They're gonna investigate me_ , he thought, but didn't say. He didn't have anything to cry about. He'd made this mess, and he'd deal with whatever it handed him, but god, if anything happened to Sean and it was all his fault.... "Come work for me," he said suddenly. "For my family. I'm sure we can. Could. Find something," he trailed off, his words seeming hollow even to him. He tossed his spent cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, defeated. "Sean, we have to get of here," he said quietly.

"No, _you_ have to get out of here," Sean said. His voice was thick, but sounded better, as if frustration would pull him through the attack and he could come out the other side. He glanced up at Elijah and drew in a shuddering breath. "I'll head home in a bit, I'll be fine," he added, in consolation. It was a cue to leave, unconvincing as it was.

Elijah backed up, his side still pressed to the restaurant wall. He glanced over his shoulder again, and the outside world carried on, oblivious. He wondered what they, on the outside, would do if they knew, _really_ knew, not in the sense of investigations and inquiries and the rewards handed under the table when neighbor reported on neighbor. He wondered what would happen if they knew names and emotions and what fear and loss really felt like. He wondered how many people this had happened to, who had simply disappeared and who had rotted away in prison. All his life he had thought the only thing that mattered was that he was a Blue.

It meant nothing at all.

\--

Elijah let himself into the main house quietly, after debating whether he should barge right in on the subject or ease the idea in slowly. He wondered what Hannah had told their mother, or if she had told her. "Hey mom," he said, overly casual, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket and shining it on his shirt before biting in.

She looked up from the newspaper, startled. "Oh, Elijah," she said, "I didn't hear you come in." She straightened up, stepping out from behind the counter, concern apparent on her face. "Elijah, I got a phone--"

His need to postpone the inevitable forced him into action. "You know," he blurted, "I think we could use a little extra help around here, don't you think?" He raised his eyebrows. "Someone to-- like, take your phone calls for example--" he gestured-- "or help keep the place clean. I mean," he took another bite of his apple, rambling now, "Sarah gets off at what, two? We could always get somebody to pick up for her evenings or nights, you know."

She approached him warily. "Elijah, the Val--"

"Valkyrie called, I know," Elijah said, nodding. "Listen-- Mom, there's nothing wrong with wanting to help somebody, is there? I mean, is that a crime now? Is that supposed to get me--" he stopped and took a deep breath in to calm himself, blinking rapidly.

His mom took his arm gently. "Elijah, are you happy? We - your father and I - can't help but notice you seem to have... changed a bit, lately."

No mention of Hannah, and for that he was grateful. "You mean I've changed some of the company I've been keeping," he said flatly, heading into the living room. She followed him.

"Honey, we worry about you," she said sadly. "We know you're an adult and you can make your own choices, and we have faith in you, but it doesn't mean we don't still worry. We just want you to make the right choices. Smart choices." There was an edge creeping into her voice that did not go unnoticed.

"So this means you're not going to consider hiring anybody on, then," he said sarcastically, his voice dull in his head.

"We don't need the help, Elijah," she said. The unspoken _not **that** kind of help_ hung in the air between them, and something in Elijah snapped.

"Hey, maybe I'm not making the wrong choices, Mom," he said, forcing his voice to be light. "Maybe I'm just going through a phase. Surely you've read something about that? Rebellion or something?"

"Some decisions you might make during a phase, you can't take those back, Elijah." His mom sat down on the loveseat and picked up one of the cushions, hugging it to herself. Elijah wanted to laugh. Like _she_ was the one who needed comforting.

Elijah nodded, and widened his eyes. "You're absolutely right, Mom. I mean, what was that story again? The one about great-aunt Laura?" He pressed his lips together and watched her body tense up at the mention, staring her down. It was a silent challenge, and a stupid one to be sure, but he refused to tiptoe around what she was insinuating.

She met his stare with a stern one of her own. "That's not funny, Elijah."

He shook his head. "No, mom," he said. "It's not."

She put the cushion back and uncrossed her legs, rising to her feet. "I just wanted you to know we cared," she sighed.

"Well, I appreciate it." He caught her arm as she passed him and brushed her cheek with a perfunctory kiss.

She brushed his hair back affectionately, feeling his forehead as she did. "Just be careful," she said. "I don't want to have to--" Her eyes flickered anxiously between his for a moment, trying to read him, and Elijah schooled his face into a look of blank innocence. "I know you're a good kid, honey," she settled on saying. "I know you'll be okay."

 _You don't know me at all,_ Elijah thought.

\--

"Hey, Elijah?" Hannah met him at the front door, standing hesitantly in the door frame.

"What, Hannah," he snapped. "What?"

"I heard," she said. "I didn't tell her, Lij, I swear. They really called. She's been on the phone with Dad all day talking about it." Hannah shrugged uneasily. "Just so you know."

"Great," Elijah told her coldly. "So you're off the hook. I hope you feel better about yourself."

She stepped outside, letting the door close behind her. "What are you gonna do about it?" she said, as he turned to go again, and that was really the last straw. He was tired of being asked what he was going to do, tired of the questions, and now he was probably going to invite more from the police if they ever got around to it.

"Look, Hannah," he snarled, whirling on her, "I get it, okay? You think I'm making shitty choices and that I only spend time with Sean because it's rebellious and he's abnormal and dangerous and outside the mainstream and I wanna fuck society, okay, I get it. But I do _not_ need your pretentious, false sympathy right now, all right?"

"I was being serious!" she insisted. She put a tentative hand on Elijah's shoulder as he struggled to take in normal-sized breaths. "I'm sorry, okay? I don't. I don't understand you, Elijah. I don't understand why you--" her face crumpled, and she fought it for a moment before giving in, her voice thick with tears. "What's he got, Elijah? I don't understand. Do you. do you love him?"

In Hannah's large, blue eyes he saw himself reflected, pale and wan and unloved. He saw a world and a life without Sean in her eyes, and he wanted no part of it. "Yeah," he admitted weakly. "I'm in love with him, Hannah."

"So what are you gonna do?" she said again. She swiped at her eyes quickly and bit back a sob. He felt like he was losing her, and she was right in front of him. "I wanna help, I don't know what to do. I'm sorry, I don't know how."

He shrugged. "If they're coming after us, there's nothing I _can_ do," he said, and saying it like that brought him the finality he needed. It was freeing, letting go. "So I'm not gonna do anything," he went on. "Maybe, if somebody asks you about us--"

Hannah blanched. "I don't know," she said warily, and he understood why. There was no punishment associated with helping a couple sneak around illicitly, but it was common knowledge that an accomplice could be picked up by the police and "questioned" for a number of days. Usually they returned - if they returned, though most did - with scars and memories that no one dared question.

Elijah waved his hands dismissively. "You can tell the police you've never even heard of Sean, if they ask you. I'll even back you up, and so will he." He sighed. "I'm not asking you to stand guard outside his window, Hannah."

"But you want me to lie for you?"

"No, it's up to you," he shook his head. "I'm asking for an alibi, if you ever feel like giving it."

She considered. "When did we suddenly become so close, huh?" she said, when she'd nodded and Elijah had pulled her into a hug. She rubbed his back tenderly, then let go. "Why couldn't you just," she said wistfully, then trailed off, staring at the space above his shoulder. He knew what she meant. "Is the world out there so big you just can't be happy anywhere else?"

Elijah kissed her cheek and put a hand on the top of her head. He had to reach higher than he'd remembered to do it, and it occurred to him how much they'd grown apart. "You have no idea," he murmured.

"Where were you going?" she asked, when they pulled away. "Or is that a stupid question?"

He smiled. 

\--

"The point is, I can't fix anything, it's not up to me. I don't know why ever I thought I could."

"It's not up to anybody. The difference between me and you is that nobody ever told you that."

Elijah twisted in Sean's arms, kissing his chin and then the line of his jaw. "Is that the only difference between us?"

Sean tilted Elijah's head up with his hand. His eyes were still red-rimmed and wet with unshed tears. "It's probably the only one that matters, now," he said.


End file.
